For the waters unbeaten in the fulling mill remains just the envy,
a way to blame the matter when
nothing comes out as we wanted – if we knew what we want…
All, the people and the things, are the background of a tragicomic decor,
it’s all dented, and even the sky, you might think it is made from shards glued awkwardly…
Do not you see that everything, anguishes, or frustrations, even the applause,
are not so impetuous as the loneliness?